


Fan Favorite

by HisAngelThursday



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas needs love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Destiel - Freeform, Implied Relationships, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAngelThursday/pseuds/HisAngelThursday
Summary: Though he was all-too aware of Carver Edlund's books, Castiel had yet to encounter the somewhat rabid fandom that came with them.  
Or, alternatively, the one in which Cas encounters the Supernatural fandom for the first time, and is baffled to discover how beloved he is.





	

In all his time on earth, Castiel had never been so completely baffled.

Not by the case – the case was bog standard to begin with, and quickly turning out to be a dead end. 

But while the witness rambled on about the “wendigo” (i.e. the drunken homeless man who seemed to be living in the woods) she had supposedly seen, a peculiar theme continuously caught his eye: milling around behind them were masses upon masses of…trench coats. 

Or, more accurately, humans, predominantly young women, some of whom were clad in denim and plaid, some of whom were clad in all black suits, but by far the most pervasive were the all-too-familiar beige overcoats. 

Castiel was very confused. Though he himself was not nearly as easily affected by temperature as his human counterparts, he knew enough to realize that this attire was most unseasonable. Not to mention impractical, when accompanied by the bizarre wire contraptions some of them seemed to have adhered to their shoulders. 

It was an odd coincidence, really: with the white down feathers stuck to them, the devices almost resembled wings. 

Castiel squinted ponderously as one young woman playfully wielded what seemed to be a makeshift angel blade at her denim-clad companion. 

Perhaps TOO big of a coincidence. 

“…And that wasn’t the last time I saw him, neither: this one time, my friend and I were walking home, and he jumped out from behind this shrub, wearing this grass headdress-type thing, screaming-” the middle-aged woman who worked there – Castiel’s witness – was currently in the middle of saying. 

“Thank you, ma’am, I believe that’s all the information I need on the matter. I’ll look into it,” Castiel informed her distractedly, still peering over her shoulder. 

He had long since ruled out any rogue wendigos roaming these woods, though this wasn’t to say he had completely forfended supernatural influences altogether: after all, what else could possibly explain the bizarre phenomena before him. 

Clearing his throat, he continued, “Now, ma’am, I have just one question for you, and then if you wish, you may return to your work.”

The woman gesticulated vaguely. “Shoot,” she offered, which Cas was fairly certain meant, in this context, ‘go ahead.’

“You said this was a ‘fan convention.’” He encapsulated the unfamiliar term with his usual, somewhat exaggerated air-quotes. “Of what nature would this one be?”

The woman blinked, then huffed out a chuckle. “I’m guessing you’ve never heard of Carver Edlund?” 

Oh. Oh, this explained a lot.

Castiel blinked comprehensively, then cleared his throat. “No, no, I - I have, actually. I’m…a big fan of his work,” he answered honestly. 

The woman brightened. “Oh, really? Well, I’m just getting into the books myself. They’re really addictive, once you get past the whole camp factor.” 

Cas nodded, deciding not to ask further elaboration on the term ‘camp factor.’ “Quite a few people enjoy them, I take it,” he pointed out, indicating the fairly substantial crowd of costumed fans still milling around and chatting. 

“They’ve gained a real following,” the woman agreed. “Still goes under most people’s radar, but I think that just kind of adds to the appeal, you know? A real cult classic.”

Castiel nodded again, still somewhat preoccupied. True, now that he knew the Supernatural books were to blame, he could most likely rule out any demonic culprits; nevertheless, one final question continued to nag at his mind. 

“Why are so many of them dressed like-” he blurted, stopping just short of saying ‘me.’ In spite of his best efforts to improve his deceptive skills, Cas was still by no means a natural liar. Tentatively, he reiterated, “Why are there so many…’Castiels?’”

The woman stared at him. Then, she barked out a laugh. “Oh, boy. You SURE you’re an Edland fan?” she inquired. “’Cause like I said, I’m pretty new to the fandom, and even I know the answer to that: Cas is a real sweetheart around these parts. Fans just love him.”

Cas felt utterly catatonic. Surely, he couldn’t have heard right. 

“But…but he’s not the hero,” he managed, after a moment of stunned silence. 

The woman appeared somewhat taken aback by this answer. “Well, he’s A hero,” she pointed out. “He might not be the only star of the book, but he pulled Dean out of Hell. He DIED for him. Doesn’t get much more heroic than that in my book.” 

“He is expendable,” Cas refuted stubbornly. “Everyone says so.”

The woman huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Who in the hell would say that?”

Cas blinked. It took him a second or two to process that the Chuck’s books had ended with the would-be apocalypse years ago, that none of these people would likely ever know of Ambriel, or the Darkness, or even the second coming of Lucifer. 

Just as they’d never know of all the horrible things Cas had done in the name of the greater good, of Sam’s wall or the Leviathan or anything that came after.

He shook his head sadly. “You don’t understand,” he sighed. “I…Cas, he makes so many mistakes. He may mean well, but all he ends up doing is ruining everything he cares about, hurting everyone he loves. He has done nothing to deserve Sam and Dean’s loyalty, nor has he done anything to deserve the adoration of these people. I…” Cas swallowed thickly. “…He is nothing.”

The woman stared at him, face now contorted into a somewhat comical scowl. “You’re one of them bibros, aren’t you?”

Seeing Castiel’s confused expression at the term, the woman sighed, and elaborated, “Those are fans who just like the brothers and nobody else. You know. The ‘bronlies.’”

Castiel thought about it. Now that she mentioned it, his social circle was limited to almost exclusively the brothers; excluding Claire and Mary, almost everyone else he’d ever cared about was long dead. 

“Yes,” he replied regretfully. “I believe I am a ‘bibro.’”

“Figures,” the woman grunted, seeming oddly put off by the admission. “Look, mister: you’re allowed to like or dislike whoever you want, but Cas? Cas means a lot of things to a lot of different people. He resonates with anyone who’s ever felt lonely and out of place, or stuck somewhere where they didn’t belong. And more than that, he inspires people: Cas, he gets knocked down, over and over again, but no matter what, he always finds a way to keep fighting. And above all, he never gives up. That MEANS something to people,” she concluded, jabbing her finger pointedly in his direction. “Like him or not, I think that’s something you could do to respect.” 

Cas swallowed wetly as the woman finished her oddly impassioned little speech, hoping that the whirlpool of emotions he was now experiencing didn’t show on his face. 

“I’ll try to do that, ma’am,” he honestly replied. Attempting to collect himself somewhat, he concluded, “Be sure to give me a call if you experience any more…phenomena.”

The woman nodded. “You got it, Agent…” she took a second look at the card he’d given her earlier, eyebrows arching slightly as she read the inscription. “…Rihanna.”

Cas nodded politely and turned to leave, still trying to figure out what to make of this surreal experience, and baffled as to what he was going to tell Sam and Dean when they asked about what he found on his search for their Wendigo.

“Agent!” the witness called after him, causing Cas to peer quizzically over his shoulder. “You know, if you’re interested, you might wanna take a look around for a while.” She grinned as she looked him appraisingly up and down. “You blend right in: for someone who doesn’t like Castiel that much, you sure do dress like him.”

 

…

 

Hours later, Castiel was getting back into his Lincoln Continental, trench-coated angel plushy and several rolled up posters tucked under one arm as he dialed Dean’s phone with the other. 

“Cas? How’d it go?” buzzed a familiar voice on the other end. Sam. “Any luck with the wendigo?”

“Yes. There is none,” Cas replied. “Only a frequently inebriated vagrant with an aversion to clothing.” 

Sam started to say something, but it was pervaded by the sweet sound of Dean’s throaty chuckle. They must have had it on speaker.

“Hey, man, I told you that case was a wild goose chase!”

Cas’s brow rumpled. “There aren’t any geese,” he pointed out, causing Dean to laugh harder.

“It’s a metaphor, buddy,” he explained. “Now get your feathery ass back here, alright? I NEED you!” 

“I will, Dean,” Cas assured him, not quite catching the fact that Dean said this just a little too emphatically. 

On the other end of the phone, Sam was disparagingly rolling his eyes. “Hey, uh. I know there was no Wendigo, but did you find anything…interesting down there?” he inquired, eager to change the subject and distract himself from his embarrassing brother. “You’ve been gone an awfully long time.” 

Cas smiled proudly down at the items he’d acquired, and the “I’m a Dean girl” tee-shirt he now had on underneath his suit jacket and trench. 

He knew he’d have to find a way to hide his prizes when he got back to the bunker, but until then, they were his to freely enjoy.

“Nothing much,” he replied.

**Author's Note:**

> Pure self-indulgence! Cas is so continuously mistreated, I can't help but feel that one of his greatest tragedies is that he can never know how much the fandom loves him. 
> 
> I suppose this is the next best thing!


End file.
